


Collect your Courage

by Hanaasbananas



Series: The Sun Prince [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, honestly idek if i like this, no beta we die like men, the fire nation citizens love zuko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27462223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanaasbananas/pseuds/Hanaasbananas
Summary: It is when he lies unconscious, breathing shallowly, his limp hand clutched in Uncle’s that Agni visits him and he thinksthis is it.But Agni says it is not his time. Not yet. Even as he begs for death, clings to her like he once clung to his mother's skirts as a child, she will not grant him this.She listens patiently as he shrieks and rages, as he accuses her of forsaking him, of not making him as strong as his sister. She holds him as he cries, running her hands through his hair and asks what he did to deserve father’s wrath, the pain that refuses to subside, why he cannot simply fade away.Eventually, she wipes away his tears, smooths his hair back and says simply: “your people need you.”
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Sun Prince [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006455
Comments: 19
Kudos: 442





	Collect your Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! After reading many, many, many ATLA (specifically Zuko centric) fics, I decided to try and write my own. This was supposed to be a long one shot, but the story got out of hand so it's gonna be a SERIES of one shots instead. This series will also be Zutara.

_ Did you hear? _ The whispers travel through the halls of the palace that night.  _ Did you hear how the young prince stood up for the people?  _

_ Did you hear, he was challenged to an Agni Kai?  _

_ Really?  _

_ He accepted. _

The kitchen is absolutely buzzing with the gossip, serving girls congregating around poor Ming who witnessed the entire thing. 

Nobody saw her, standing in the shadows during the meeting of the war council, ready as she always was with a jug of water should any of the generals feel thirsty. Nobody saw her grip tighten on the handle, knuckles whitening as the general spoke of the 41st division—the division her son had been so proud to be conscripted into!—spoke of using them as cannon fodder, as though their young lives were worth nothing.

They  _ definitely  _ didn’t see her when prince Zuko rose up to defend his people, shouting at the old men for their cruelty. They didn’t notice as she slipped out of the room, taking off at a dead sprint until she was as far away from that room as possible. 

Servants are invisible, after all. 

Head chef Eimaku shakes her head, muttering under her breath as she looks over at the gaggle of staff surrounding Ming. “What a foolish, foolish boy.”

“What was that, Eimaku?” one of the new girls—she hasn’t learnt all their names yet—asks from beside her and her lips twist as all eyes turn to her. These young girls are too idealistic, believing that things can change. She almost doesn’t want to crush their hopes. Almost. 

“Mark my words,” she says “mark my words, the Firelord will not let this stand. They will snuff out his kindness, and there is not a thing that we can do about it.”

* * *

The official story is this: Crown Prince Zuko, having disrespected the Firelord **,** was challenged to an Agni Kai to fight for his honour, and lost. He is hereby banished from the fire nation, only to return if he can find and capture the Avatar. Returning empty handed is an offence punishable by death.

But though messengers travel fast, rumours are faster, and it doesn’t take long for the truth to trickle down to the people in fits and bursts. How many rich and noble families were in the audience? How many of them discussed the events at home, indifferent to the servants who listened on in growing horror? 

The story spreads like wildfire, and soon all of Caldera knows how the young prince was struck down for standing up for his people. 

_ They say the castle rings with his screams.  _ Mothers cover their mouths in horror and weep. Fathers look at their children, look at their own hands, and wonder who could do such a thing. 

_ It was a spectacle. He begged for mercy. _

_ He almost  _ killed  _ him.  _

And as physicians work tirelessly to save the prince's life, all across the city, the people keep vigil; light candles and pray to Agni for their prince’s recovery. 

* * *

Two days after Zuko’s condition stabilises, his banishment is implemented. People line the streets as their prince is carried on board the tiny, battered warship in a stretcher. 

Firelord Ozai had not seen fit to give his son the privacy of a palanquin for his journey to the port, wanting his citizens to see the disgraced prince for what he was: weak, and cowardly.

But that is not what the people see. 

They see a child, pale and unconscious, half of his head shaved to treat his burn, the bandages that cover half his face practically indistinguishable from the colour of his skin. They see a haggard General Iroh, walking beside the stretcher and looking as though he hasn’t slept in days.

Before he can board the ship however, a young woman darts forward, bowing low. The crowd is silent, watching as she presents him with a thick package, watching to see if he will accept their gift. “For the sun prince” she murmurs. “May Agni protect him on his journey.”

* * *

Zuko’s fourteenth birthday passes in a haze of fever and delirium; a condition that is only exacerbated by their presence at sea. His limbs feel heavy and his mouth feels as though it’s been stuffed full of cotton, but that doesn’t stop him from thrashing in the bed, crying out for mercy, for mother to  _ come back _ , for Uncle.

The only one who hears his call is Uncle. 

Whenever he manages a moment of lucidity, however brief, Uncle is there at his bedside; always ready with a cup of cool water that he tips carefully down his throat and comforting words that do nothing to ease the burning in his head.

Zuko knows that he is weakening. He can feel it in the way his breathing comes harder now, in the bone deep ache that has settled underneath his skin.

Uncle knows this too. His voice still penetrates Zuko’s consciousness, speaking of anything and everything, telling him stories he hasn’t heard since he was a child. He only makes out a few words here and there, but the cadence of Uncle’s voice is soothing nonetheless and he allows it to comfort him as the infection and fever continue to rage through his veins.

He is dying after all. Zuko thinks he can be allowed to indulge in a little childishness. 

He even tries to respond to Uncle as best he can, mumbling incoherently, if only to try and keep the grief in Uncle’s voice at bay, hating the way his voice hitches when he speaks, as though he is holding back tears. Zuko can’t think why Uncle would cry over him, but the man has lost enough already-his son, his birthright-the least Zuko can do is  _ speak _ to him. Lu Ten would like that, he thinks.

But soon even that proves too difficult for him to manage and he falls silent, the last reserves of his strength focused solely on simply  _ breathing _ . It is when he lies unconscious, breathing shallowly, his limp hand clutched in Uncle’s that Agni visits him and he thinks  _ this is it. _

But Agni says it is not his time. Not yet. Even as he begs for death, clings to her like he once clung to his mother's skirts as a child, she will not grant him this. 

She listens patiently as he shrieks and rages, as he accuses her of forsaking him, of not making him as strong as his sister. She holds him as he cries, running her hands through his hair and asks what he did to deserve father’s wrath, the pain that refuses to subside, why he cannot simply fade away.

Eventually, she wipes away his tears, smooths his hair back and says simply: “your people need you.”

* * *

The western air temple isn’t at all what he expected. 

Standing in one of the emptied rooms, Zuko can’t stop staring at the scorch marks all over the walls, the floor. The bodies are gone, but still, the sight lingers in his mind. The pile of children's bones—and they  _ had  _ been children, even he hadn’t been able to ignore how small the skeletons had been, how so many of the skulls fit easily in his palm as they conducted the funeral rites— only one grown skeleton at the base, sprawled out as though he scrambled to get there, arms spread out as if to protect the children from the flames. 

His scar throbs and Zuko brings his hand halfway up to his face before dropping it back to his side, his mouth dry. Even the memory of the pain-that blistering, red hot fire held against his face; his skin melting beneath the flames; the shriek that tore itself from his throat after he’d stopped biting his tongue and filling his mouth with blood-all of that pain was a drop in the ocean compared to what  _ they  _ went through.

Did they die quickly, he wonders, or were they burned until their skin melted from their bodies, until they were charred to a crisp? Or did they throw them all together, building a human pyre before blasting them once with the force of the entire army behind them; leaving their victims to die slowly and in agony? 

Zuko throws up. 

His legs give out beneath him as he falls to the ground, hardly registering the pain that shoots through his knees. Heaving, he remembers his lessons.  _ Air nomad armies, _ they’d said.  _ A great military triumph for the Fire Nation.  _

He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Couldn’t believe that his forefathers would have acted so dishonourably, done something so deeply horrific. Children were to be spared from battle.  _ Everyone  _ knew that. They were innocents—because that’s what they were. Even as he struggled to reconcile the sights of the temple with what he’d been told in lessons, there was no doubt in his mind that they had been innocents. So  _ why…? _

But then he thinks of the 41st division, of war generals so readily planning the pointless slaughter of their own loyal citizens; of his own father ignoring his pleas for mercy, the sick smile on his face as he’d cradled Zuko’s face in his palm and set it ablaze; and suddenly it’s not that hard to believe. 

Zuko can almost hear the screams, and he wonders if it’s his imagination, or an echo of the massacre that took place a hundred years ago. 

There is no victory here. 

* * *

Upon their return from the temple, Zuko locks himself in his room and doesn’t come out for five days. Uncle leaves meals outside his door though he doesn’t try to speak to Zuko and on the fifth day he leaves a package full of letters on the tray beside his breakfast. 

Zuko ignores the meal, choosing instead to read the letters that he discovers are from the citizens of Caldera. With the bulky bandages covering half of his face, it takes twice as long as it normally would for him to make his way through them, and it’s  _ not  _ because of the tears that cloud his good eye at the words of his people. 

They thank him for standing up for the troops, wish him luck on his mission, pray for his recovery and pledge their loyalty to him. They tell him of the fathers, sons, brothers and husbands, all lost to this never ending war; they speak of how his defiance (cowardice, impertinence,  _ disrespect)  _ had given them hope that one day this war may end, that they would be free to prosper. How they shall await the return of their sun prince. There are even letters from young children, messily written and accompanied with illustrations. Those are his favourite.

In another time, he would have shoved the letters away in disgust, calling the words within them treason, but instead he goes over the words again and again, reverently tracing over the love his people have for him. 

He reads them long into the night, long after his candles have burnt down and he can repeat the words from memory. And then, finally, he leaves his room, making his way to Uncle’s quarters. It’s music night up on deck, so his quarters are empty, but Zuko settles in to wait, thinking about what he must do.

Father’s terms were clear. If, by some miracle he manages to find the avatar and captures him, he’ll be able to return home and could try to affect change from within. It would be difficult—the people he’d most need to get on his side have likely lost all respect for him and would be unlikely to let him play politics. 

And the truth of the matter is, Zuko has no idea what father would even do if the avatar  _ was  _ found. The logical thing would be to keep him alive so that they won’t have to begin the search again, but...father might kill the avatar anyway, and use that to lay waste to the next kingdom the avatar will be reborn into.

The war will continue, and his people will suffer. Zuko’s mind skips back to the air temple, and he shudders. No. Not just  _ his  _ people, but the whole world. 

What had one of the letters said?  _ The women of the Fire Nation waste their time by giving birth to children, by raising them. I have seen too many mothers wither away and die with every son that dies, every daughter; and can only thank Agni that she blessed me with a barren womb.  _

He wonders if there is a single person alive who knows what peace- _ true _ peace is like. If the war ended, would his people even know what to do? The war is simply a fact of life—nobody remembers when it started, and nobody knows when it will end—they simply prepare their children to be conscripted, to lose their lives to this endless, bloody war that brings them no reward, only satiates the bloodlust of generals blind to the destruction they sow in their own land. 

The door opens and Zuko starts, turning to greet Uncle. 

“Prince Zuko!” Uncle can’t hide the surprise in his voice. “What brings you here so late at night?” before he can respond, Uncle has already hurried over to the corner where he keeps his teapot “would you care for some tea?”

“Do you think this war is right?” Zuko blurts out the words before he can stop himself and he watches as Uncle freezes. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is that of their breathing and then Uncle comes to sit across from him, his expression thoughtful.

“That would depend,” Uncle begins slowly “on what your definition of  _ right _ is—”

“Just. Do you think it’s a just war?”

He avoids Uncle’s gaze, staring instead into the cup of tea that is slid in front of him. He hadn’t realised until now how much he needed Uncle to have the same beliefs as him, and as the silence stretches on, he clenches his fists in his lap, forcing himself to remain still until he can’t bear it any longer.

Zuko feels his mouth begin to twist in a scowl, but before he can shout at Uncle to just  _ answer the question already! _ he speaks. 

“What do  _ you  _ think, Prince Zuko?” The heavy knot in his chest loosens at Uncle’s question, even though he should be annoyed that he countered his question with one of his own, but the way Uncle watches him carefully, an unrecognisable emotion that looks almost like pride in his gold eyes tells him all he needs to know. 

In response, Zuko breathes deeply, taking out his knife—the one that uncle had sent him from Ba Sing Se so long ago—and brings it up, up, up to his phoenix tail and slices it clean off. Holding the ponytail in his hands, he meets uncle’s gaze as he speaks. “I think that our nation is broken, Uncle. It’s time someone tried to fix it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it? Hated it? Let me know!


End file.
